Downfall
by wwgost
Summary: Vincent's take on life during and around the events my story, "Busted."  Warnings for a lot of smut.  Now with an epilogue that is a little Rude-ish and not so smut, but warnings for Reno.
1. Downfall

** Disclaimer: Not mine, wish it was.**

Downfall

* * *

><p><em>I wanna see you tonight<em>

_Dancing in the endless moonlight  
>In the parking lot in the headlights of cars<br>Someplace on the moon  
>Where they moved the drive-in theater<br>Where I left the car that I can't find but I still got the keys to  
>Let it ride<br>Let it ride easy down the road  
>Let it ride<br>Let it take away all of this darkness  
>Let it ride<br>Let it rock me in the arms of stranger's angels until it brings me home  
>Let it ride<br>Let it roll  
>Let it go—Ryan Adams, Let It Ride<em>

* * *

><p>It didn't matter how good the moving company was. It didn't matter how many of the boxes they packed for you. It didn't matter how much advance work you did yourself, and how many car loads you took down yourself for breakables, wine bottles, firearms, explosives, materia, and all the other nitpicky things the wimps the WRO-sponsored, high priced movers refused to move even with a waiver…<p>

Moving was an almighty, cock-sucking bitch, and she didn't even swallow.

Boxes were, quite literally, everywhere and Vincent had given up on the task of figuring out what was inside them. He had located enough clothing to avoid going naked, and enough booze to keep from utter sobriety, and thrown his aching body into the oversized bathtub of his Edge condominium in an attempt to boil himself alive.

So far, so good.

The condo had been an impulse purchase, a peevish rebellion against an endless succession of beige hotel rooms with their flavorless coffeepots and temperamental irons and bipolar alarm clocks. It was an older building, recently repaired of its damages from Meteorfall. It looked like a place he would have lived, well, thirty years ago, with worn wood floors, vaulted ceilings, and unpretentious windows. But he hadn't been nearly so reflective when he purchased it years ago; he'd been more pissy and full his own self-absorbed angst and looking for an ersatz coffin. And so, with a few quick signatures, it was his. And now that he was done with his semi-nomadic lifestyle that had centered around Kalm and his work with the WRO, it appeared that he would actually be _living_ here.

The _horrors_.

He dunked his head and let his hair float around him for a while. Coming up, he felt his stomach growl so he reluctantly dragged himself out of the tub, dried off and dressed. Damn it all, even that was harder than it used to be. Times were, he missed the habitual simplicity of his cloak but even he had to admit that time had passed, so after an absurdly long decision he settled on his new uniform of jeans, silk shirt, and a pair of leather boots. The hair would take until next week to dry so he just pulled it back, and made his way to the bar where Tifa greeted him with a squeal of Yuffie proportions and a hug that left him gasping for breath over her chest.

"You look wonderful! When did you get back?"

"This afternoon. Please tell me whatever I smell cooking is ready."

"For you? Always. Roast beef and sweet potato fries all right?"

He hoped he wasn't drooling. He barely heard the prattling on as she poured the wine.

"So, are you all moved in?"

"Well, the boxes are. My motivation seems to have been damaged in transit and not insured."

"Isn't it always. Rude's in Costa this week, before you ask. He'll be back Friday."

"Why would I ask? Though, I did bring him some of that chocolate he likes. But that doesn't mean anything, Tifa."

"Of course not." Her voice had the same sing-song lilt that the kids' had, when they were about to tell on each other. "I'm sure you do that for every tall dark and handsome Turk that you coincidentally invite out to dinner every time you are in town and follow with your eyes whenever he's in the bar."

"Tifa, maybe I like him because he doesn't pick at my business? Or talk as much as his partner?"

"Keep telling yourself that. Bartenders see a lot of human nature, and I see yours. Here's your supper." He was too hungry to glare and ate his supper with gusto, and by the time she came back out, she was too busy discussing Reno and Cloud's private lives to bother with his. He felt briefly guilty offering his friend up to the Gods of Gossip, but sometimes a sacrifice had to be made.

He drank several more glasses of wine to avoid unpacking more of his own and eventually made his way back home, considering for the first time the purchase of a bike. He'd never lived anywhere long enough to invest in transportation, and found the idea novel at least. Frightening, at most.

He really needed to unpack more boxes but the Island of Sofa called. It was too early for sleep, yet too late to nap, but the wine and the beef and the long day of moving melted him into the cushions. He turned onto his side, and hit the satellite radio button on the remote. Soft jazz filled the room, and he curled in a bit.

So what if he woke at four in the morning. He could unpack then. Catch up on work emails, which was the only work he had, really. He adjusted the pillow under his cheek, checked to make sure Cerberus was on the coffee table, and drifted off into a contented darkness. His last waking thought was that he had looked forward to seeing Rude, and Friday seemed a long way off.

By Friday, everything was out of Kalm, including him. He had unpacked exactly one more box and found a lamp and some socks; he had made many self-discoveries of late, among them was the fact he couldn't label boxes for shit. He headed to the bar to celebrate this epiphany and, opening the door, he heard Tifa scream.

It was getting to be a bit of a tradition.

This time it was over Cloud and Reno, who had apparently just gotten engaged. His ears still ringing from the decibel violation, he made his way over to the only empty barstool, and to his friend. "Rude. Good to see you." It was possibly the understatement of that particular century. He didn't know about the previous one, having slept through part of it.

"Vincent. Haven't seen you in a while."

"Just moved back. Well, more or less. Unpacking is going rather slowly."

"It generally does. Gods, I hate female screeching."

"I'm not sure any we know speak another language. I thought for a moment that she'd seen a dead body, but she'd just make us move it."

Rude chuckled at that. He'd known Tifa for a while too, even…

"Say, didn't you date her?" Okay, so much for not asking nosy questions.

"Not for long. Women…don't hold my attention much." He didn't know what amused him more; the fact that Rude as much as admitted he went for the woman's chest, or that he found himself insanely relieved that Rude really wasn't that attracted to women. From the speculative look on Rude's face, he'd hidden his amusement badly. Sleeping in a coffin had not honed his subtlety much, obviously.

"My own track record with women is stellar, on the other hand."

Rude choked on his beer. "I should go. It's been a long week."

Shit. "One more round?" He hoped that he didn't sound too desperate.

It was three. Rude pulled off his jacket and tie, and Vincent wondered if he should have worn looser pants. Had the man always looked that good? Liquid courage allowed him to share his phone number, and at the same time made it harder to look up, but in the end it was done. He found himself back out on the sidewalk halfway to his condo wondering what in the almighty heavens he had just done.

* * *

><p><em>Can you help me I'm bent<br>I'm so scared that I'll never  
>Get put back together<br>Keep breaking me in  
>And this is how we will end<br>With you and me bent—Matchbox 20, Bent_

* * *

><p>He was a man accustomed to waking up sweating, the sheets twisted around him, gasping for air.<p>

He wasn't so used to enjoying it.

In his dream, Rude's lips had been hard on his, large dark hands working him to ecstasy. By the time the ache woke him, there was little to do but reach down and finish what the dream had started.

Damn.

That hadn't happened in a _long_ time. What the hell was happening to him? He pressed his face down into his pillow and moaned, half in wry amusement, half in self disgust. He got up and threw his sleep pants straight into the washing machine and got in the shower.

This move was becoming hell on his water bill.

He walked past a wall of boxes to fix himself breakfast in his newly unpacked dishes and heard his cell ring, fighting another moan when he saw the caller ID.

"Did I wake you?"

_Rather_. "No. I was just eating breakfast."

"I was wondering if we could meet for lunch. I have something to discuss regarding last night."

_So do I. So do I._ "That will be fine. The streetside bar on Loveless? Nothing fancy, but we can grab a sandwich and some wine or beer." And he felt safer in public, but he wisely did not mention that particular fact. He hung up the phone and debated another shower, a cold one, but instead got up and dressed.

A little more awake, he felt a little less horny and more in control. More normal. He sat down and ordered wine and waited for Rude, who looked much less dangerous wearing a jacket and tie.

"Thanks for meeting me."

"It's no problem." Except for his libido, it was true.

"It seems Reno and Cloud applied for a marriage license. I know Tifa had wanted to do something for them, I don't know if that would be an opportunity. Or not. I don't even know what that entails." Turning to the bartender, he ordered a beer and a pressed pork sandwich.

"I'll take the same on the sandwich. And the license has to be mailed, and notarized in front of two witnesses. Welcome to the world of low technology. We can steal it out of his mailbox. Is Elena still a notary?"

"That's mail fraud, Vincent."

It took him a minute to process what he was hearing and he stopped to pray for patience. "Rude. You are a Turk. You routinely commit every crime portrayed in a cheap gangster movie before lunch every day, and you draw a paycheck for it. And you're balking at breaking into your partner's mail box. Is it the volunteer basis of the job that bothers you or the lack of gore? Because I can pay you. Or bleed. Tell me."

Rude had no response as their sandwiches were delivered.

"You talk to your ex girlfriend. I'll talk to Tseng and Elena." Vincent felt good, all of a sudden. It had been a long time since he'd stirred up shit, and he'd forgotten how much he'd enjoyed it. But then, it had been a long time since he'd had a dream like this morning's, too.

Bad idea to think about a dirty, sexy dream while sitting next to the object of that dream. Then again, he went with a lot of bad ideas. Like watching Rude bite and swallow his sandwich. While he'd always found the man attractive—Tifa hadn't been wrong on that—he'd been able to ignore it.

Now, not so much.

"We'll get started tonight." He wiped the grease off his fingers and finished his wine. "Meet at the bar?"

Rude looked a little shell shocked. "All right."

* * *

><p>"My place is closer, we can change there." Vincent led the way down the sidewalk.<p>

"So, we're just going to go to their apartment and break into their mailbox every night until the license comes? While they're at the bar?"

"You have a better cover? They'll never notice we're gone while they're drinking and sitting in each others' laps." He was a little old fashioned where public displays of affection were concerned.

"Good point. Do you always do things like this? Take charge?"

"I used to. I grew up putting neighborhood kids up to things. My father claimed I was making him go gray; I recall no evidence of this mind you. I can't imagine what he meant."

Rude snorted behind him.

Vincent gave a tiny smile at a memory. "Once, when Cloud first moved into his loft, he had no money. Spent all of it on the down payment and some ridiculously expensive bed. So I took him out to dinner and talked him into stealing the flatware. He still has a scar on his ankle, where one of the knives cut him because I told him to sneak it out in his socks."

"You're awful." But they had arrived at the mailbox and Rude was leaning against the brick wall of the alley, smiling at him like he didn't think he was awful at all.

"Not when it works, Rude. Hold the flashhlight." He bent down with the lock picks and opened the box. "Damn. No such luck. Maybe next time. Dinner?"

"Sure. But I have my own flatware already."

"I'll take you somewhere that has real silver." His eyes sparkled. Whatever his confusion over his feelings might be, he couldn't remember when he had this much fun.

* * *

><p><em>There was a time when nothing ever really mattered<br>There was a time when there was nothing I didn't know  
>There was a time when I knew just what I was living for<br>There was a time and the time was so long ago  
>There was a time and the time was so long ago<br>And I never really sleep anymore...—Meat Loaf, It Just Won't Quit_

* * *

><p>Another night, another dry run. Rude reclined on Vincent's sofa and turned on the television. "Like this movie; I don't have this channel on my satellite. You mind if I stay and watch?"<p>

"Not if you don't mind me being a terrible host and going to bed." Vincent poured a glass of wine and padded off to the master bedroom, changing into soft pajamas and crawling in between silk sheets.

Cloud wasn't the only one with a fancy bed fetish, damn it.

But he'd no sooner dropped off to sleep than his dreams turned ugly. The smells of disinfectant, the absurdly clean scent of the lab animals sniffling helplessly in the cages. He watched, always for the shadow of a hand on the door. No shadow, he was safe. Shadow, not safe. Years of life down to the microseconds between shadow and notshadow. He dreamed it now, felt it pull at his mind even as he tossed in his expensive sheets. He fought to the surface but like a panicked swimmer, could never quite reach it and eventually was dragged down into the darkness until he felt strong, warm arms surround him, pull him up.

"Vincent! Vin! You're dreaming! Wake up!" He felt as if he'd been buried in cold, wet sand, his mouth filled with it. He opened his eyes to Rude's face, glasses gone as he'd never seen them before, the warm hands from his dream a week ago now pushing hair from his clammy face.

He wanted to weep from shame and embarrassment. He curled in on himself, or tried, but the arms wouldn't let go. "Do you need anything?"

"My dignity."

"I'll let you know if I see it. Water? Tea?"

"Tea." When Rude left the room, he got up and washed his face, dried it with a towel, and changed his sweat soaked pajamas. He crawled back into bed just in time for Rude to return with a glass of tea for him, and sit down on the bed at his side.

That warm hand again, at his back. Not erotic this time, but comforting. The line, though, was growing very thin.

He had lots of perfectly platonic relationships with other men. Cid, Reeve, Cloud. But Rude…gods. He felt the hand at his back stroke him, run through his hair in the darkness.

In his memory, as clear as day, he could see it. Speeding down a road with Veld through some local police roadblock, rolling their eyes with all the disdain that two Turks could hold for such a thing. He could still see in the rear view mirror, spinning and crashing in the air, splintering into dust as they drove onto whatever Turk business they had that sunny day, as it sparkled into nothingness behind them in the distance.

_Platonic_, with Rude, was even more distant in the rear view mirror of his mind, now, lying in the darkness of his bed, being stroked into comfort and something more. He didn't quite know what had taken its place. Hiccupping on something that was not quite a sob, he rolled over and buried his face in Rude's neck.

"Shhh, Vin. It's okay."

And it was.

* * *

><p><em>life's the same i'm moving in stereo<br>life's the same except for my shoes  
>life's the same you're shaking like tremolo<br>life's the same it's all inside you—The Cars, Moving in Stereo_

* * *

><p>Neither man discussed it, whatever had passed between them. For that, Vincent was grateful. And he was grateful for the silences that didn't need to be filled. He would never understand the need for small talk and apparently neither did Rude. It made the man's company a blessed relief after dealing with mere humans all day. Work on emails. Work on the damned phone—a constant reminder of why he never owned one before now. Ran errands for Reeve because the man had no common sense to complete his own without minor disaster. People who talked with nothing to say, all day long.<p>

Then the bar, and Rude, and their little nightly mailbox adventures, and a little late night Wutai barbecue in a secluded booth where he would do all the talking he claimed to hate. And then back to his place for wine, and silence.

And then the kind of dreams that he didn't mind so much. Not anymore. And then he woke up to do it all again. Coming home from yet another afternoon of the daily grind, he locked the deadbolt to his apartment—an unnecessary precaution as the door had a regular lock and the neighborhood was a quiet one, but old habits died hard or, in his case, not at all. He changed into workout clothes and pressed the button on the remote, initially shocked when his usual choice in music proved to have been replaced with a dark-ish techno beat.

Rude had been by. It was growing into a trend, as the Turk had serious technology envy. Leftover six packs of obscure beers would appear in the refrigerator the next morning, along with partial bottles of wine, not his brand, on the counter. Items of laundry and spare earrings had begun to show up. Bits of him were taking over Vincent's conscious being; it was though he had molted, shedding Rude-skins and leaving them behind. He thought of changing the station, and then didn't, taking his first posture to loosen up and letting the music distract him into more and more extreme positions on the blocked sunlight on his floor. He stretched a thunderbolt until he was bent double, then back into a crane. The breathing, the concentration left no room for inconvenient distracting thoughts. He pushed himself, letting the beat of the music lead his body. He hadn't felt this free since the last time he fought. He missed it. His bare feet dug into the shallow cotton rug and he bent backward, touching the carpet behind his foot.

His flexibility and athletic control, of course, were not those of a normal man but it wasn't long before he was covered with sweat and he heard a soft knock, and the door open. It was a good thing he'd just given Rude a key, because unfolding himself from a pigeon pose in a hurry was not something he could imagine doing without considerable discomfort and possible injury.

"Tseng sent these by for you to sign for WRO. Reeve's in Kalm and…uh. Do you want me to wait for you to get up, or just bring you a pen?"

"Bring me a pen." After all, it wasn't like they were going to stand on ceremony any more. Extricating his left leg from under his chest, he pulled up into a half-assed modified cobra and signed the forms, shoving them back at Rude and ignoring the few sweat drops that went along with them.

"Guess I need to get back in shape too. Haven't done yoga in ages."

Vincent wondered what hidden ligament or tendon on Rude's body could possibly be any more fit, and then shoved those thoughts away into the pervert corner of his brain. He hopped up from the floor and went to the kitchen for some water. "So, the usual tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

* * *

><p><em>You're a beautiful<br>A beautiful fucked up man  
>You're setting up your<br>Razor wire shrine_

_Cause you're working_  
><em>Building a mystery—Sarah McLachlan, Building A Mystery<em>

* * *

><p>The lock on the mailbox came free with an easy click, and he saw within, a standard issue government envelope.<p>

Office of Family Services, Courthouse. Opening it just to make sure, he wanted to crow in triumph but remembered the need for stealth. He looked up to his partner in crime and smiled. Rude returned his gaze, a little stunned, as if he had just seen the greatest treasure in all the planet.

Clutching their loot, they ran back to the car and looked at it again. "We fucking did it, Rude."

They were laughing, then they weren't. Vincent felt like the air had been sucked out of the sedan, suddenly. He felt a hand was in his hair, like the night of the horrible dream, but it was so much better, and then was pulling him in closer. At first he didn't have the courage for a kiss and only buried his face in Rude's neck again, but hearing the moan of disappointment in Rude's throat brought is lips up, almost unwillingly, and fastened there on that addicting warmth. Gods, he had almost forgotten what this was like, the hard silken reality of another man's mouth. His tongue opened Rude's lips. He was starving. His body felt empty.

He didn't have a problem getting them upstairs in the dark. He was used to it anyway, and Rude's presence was now as familiar to him as the darkness itself. He noted that Rude was pretty impatient, as well, to get undressed and had him up against the hallway wall at one point, groping without shame or mercy. It made him feel a little better, if only for a few moments.

Compared to the blackness of the hallway, the bedroom was near blinding in full moon and Rude was more beautiful than he had been in his dreams. Cut from dark marble, painted in tattoos and metal, Vincent could only paint him again with his hand, with his tongue. He licked his way down that muscular body, wrapping his mind in his male smell, until he reached his goal.

Damn. He couldn't remember, ever, wanting, needing to taste another man this much. He lowered his head slowly, taking in the head of Rude's cock and licking up the saltiness he found there. Took him deeper in his mouth, somehow needing more, until he felt Rude's thighs tense beside him and his hand reach down to pull him up, to hold him and touch him in return. He wanted to hide from Rude's searching gaze, but there was nowhere to do so and still kiss and touch him, be touched by him, and those kisses and touches burned and drew out of him sounds that he would never have recognized as being his own voice.

He wondered just how far back he'd left "platonic" now.

He raised himself up, taking the lube from Rude's now still, trembling hand, and stroked him until he moaned for him to stop, then lowered himself with agonizing slowness and willed himself to not do what his body was screaming; namely, to throw himself down on Rude's shaft until they both were torn and raw and sated. But gods, did he want to. A fresh wave of lust pushed through him and he groaned, he lifted his body nearly off Rude and then pressed back down, feeling anew the hard ache of being filled. Rude's hands took his hips then, thrust hard into him over and over until he had to brace himself on the firm muscle of his chest to avoid falling over entirely.

Overwhelmed, he nearly gave it up then but resisted, and then Rude's hand was around him and he threw his head back and just gave in. It was too much. He had waited too long as it was, and dimly he heard his lover shout his release and heat fill him from within, and he collapsed, spent, and shattered.

* * *

><p>"You forgot something last night. In my car."<p>

"What?" Mind still foggy from sleep, he rolled over and only registered that he was sore in all the right places and the bed still smelled like Rude.

"Something you need to give Tifa." Vincent sat up so fast, he was dizzy. How could he…it was the whole point of the last two weeks, and he had been so busy trying to impale himself on…gods. He threw on the first thing he could find, which was the pants he'd been wearing the night before and some short sleeved t shirt from earlier in the week. Shoving his hair back in a hasty pony tail with nothing more than a finger comb, he winced at his reflection.

So the world would discover he had arms. Well, one and a half of them anyway. Fuck. Tugging on a pair of chucks with no socks, he bolted out the door and down to the ShinRa parking garage to meet Rude, who was smirking at his disheveled appearance.

"Shut up."

"What? In a hurry for something last night and forgot what we…"

"You have been around Reno entirely too long. Give it to me." It could have been his imagination, but it seemed that his red-eyed glowing glare had been more effective in the past.

"I would think…"

"RUDE!"

"Here. Tifa has called three times and it's not even eleven. Get it to the bar before I'm the one tossing my phone in the toilet and not you." Rude was still chuckling when he ran out of the garage toward Seventh Heaven.

"Well well well. Someone had fun last night."

"What did Rude tell you? And here." He handed over the envelope.

"That the two of you celebrated. He refused to give me juicy details but from the looks of you, I think I can reconstruct. Here, at least brush your hair." She handed him a comb.

He untied the tangled mess and took her advice. "Uh, don't announce that to anybody. Just plan the wedding, and I'll call Cloud. Ugh." He laid his head down on the bar.

"Any regrets?" Her teasing smile held a little concern for her friend.

"Not a single one." He turned his head to the side and grinned. She ruffled his hair like she was his mother, and tucked the license away in her bar papers so that it wouldn't be seen.

The next morning, Vincent made the first phone call that he didn't mind making, ever. And Rude, who he'd never seen laugh beyond a dry chuckle, held his sides and wept.

"I told you, Cloud. The license is at Seventh Heaven. Your wedding will be held at six pm tomorrow evening, if you wish to attend. Bring Reno." He covered the phone to let out his own string of helpless laughter. This was even more fun than he'd anticipated.

"No, no. Don't bring anything. Just make sure whatever the two of you wear is something you want in your wedding photos for posterity. Of course everyone will be there. That's why it's tomorrow, not today. We have to have time for flights in from Rocket Town and Wutai. Yes….._Wutai_! Do you think Yuffie would miss this? Okay, see you there!" He stopped to catch his breath. "Oh, Rude, we are going to hell for this."

"We are going to hell for more than this. We are just having more fun for this, than the rest."

He had a point. And it felt nice to lean back into him without worrying about how it would seem, or look, or how he would explain it later. "Tifa is doing the decorating and shopping."

"Gods help us all." Then he felt warm breath on his neck, and heard a pair of sunglasses placed gently on the tile of his counter, and there was no talk of the wedding for the rest of the evening.

* * *

><p>Vincent's first thought upon entering the bar was that a party goods store had vomited all over the place.<p>

There were paper doves, bells, signs spelling everything from congratulations to just married to best wishes to things he wasn't really sure about because his retinas had fallen out of his eyeballs. White and silver streamers were everywhere and fluffy little toothpicks...

"Not as bad as I thought it would be," Rude commented behind him, around a mouthful of candy coated almonds.

"Rude! Those are for later!" was Tifa's only response. "I think we might have overdone it a bit on the dove motif, though. Is the doormat too much?"

Vincent decided not to look down, just in case. "I'm sure it's fine. Really." Rude audibly snorted at his dry tone.

"Good. Elena is on her way with balloons." Then in a low whisper, "You two are _too_ cute."

_Balloons_? _Cute_? At that moment, the diminutive blond Turk made her way in the door completely hidden by a mass of sparkling helium balloons. "Hi, loves! This was all Party Central had in stock, I hope it's enough."

"it's enough," Vincent assured her. "Did you bring your notary stamp?"

"Of course. It's in my bag. Can you get it for me? Hells! Guests already. Let's start getting these things up."

In minutes the place was ready, and before they knew it Cloud and Reno were at the door looking about as shell shocked as Vincent had felt the morning before. Walking down a makeshift aisle formed by their cheering friends, they met at the bar to sign the certificate, formalized by Elena's stamp and two shots. Reno made a surprisingly clean speech—Vincent blamed lack of preparation time—gifts were opened, drinks were passed, and Yuffie took pictures of varying degrees of appropriateness.

He couldn't help but notice that the boys really enjoyed themselves, and wondered if his evil genius, as Cloud kept calling it, was really so evil after all.

Then again…

He walked over to Rude amidst the festivities and whispered "Do you know more people have sex at weddings than any other social event?"

Rude laughed, and they walked quietly out the back door toward home.

* * *

><p><em>Now I'm hungry for the love<br>That doesn't know what it's dreamin' of  
>Raging for the meek and mild<br>Like something wild—John Hiatt, Something Wild_

* * *

><p>"What? I'm helping Vincent unpack. No, he's not unpacked yet. You still have shit in boxes, Reno, and you've lived with Cloud over a year. All you unpacked were your uniforms, takeout menus, and pop tarts."<p>

Vincent rolled his eyes as he took another handful of hangers over to the closet. He walked over to the bed and started putting more shirts on hangers. _"Hang up the phone,"_ he mouthed.

Rude pantomimed putting a gun to his head, so Vincent took matters into his own hands. Or, more accurately, his mouth, as he tongued a spot behind Rude's ear that he had found to be particularly sensitive. Rude stopped, carefully removed his glasses, and pushed Vincent back onto the bed, crawling over to straddle him. "Look, Reno, I'll see you at the bar in, um...a half hour?" He clicked off the phone. "What?"

"Tired of unpacking." Vincent rolled them over.

"Obviously. Are we going to tell anyone?" He pulled a coat hanger out from under the small of his back and threw it across the room; his voice held more curiosity than concern.

"Let them figure it out. Tifa already knows."

"Good idea…Vin…" Vincent had moved on to Rude's earrings, which as it turned out, were kind of fun to nibble. The tip of his tongue fit inside each of them, just so.

"Hmmm?" Vincent expertly wiggled back under Rude and out of his own clothing, more or less at the same time. "I can show you some yoga. Or, we can dirty a little laundry." He set to undressing Rude.

"Bad influence. That's what you are." Rude was weakening, he could feel it in the man's pulse, his breath, in the hardness that was growing against him. He liked this. "Damn." He lowered into a searing kiss, circling his hips down as Vincent slipped off the last of his uniform, knocking off a few boxes in the process. "Hope those weren't breakables, babe."

"Didn't hear anything. Don't care." He dragged Rude's mouth back to his. He'd found that he liked too, the insistent way Rude kissed, the way he forced his mouth open with his own like there was nothing he wanted more. The man kissed like he meant _business_ and yes, Vincent liked that very much, and without warning he felt a slickened finger enter him and he gave a shocked little gasp.

When the hell had Rude gotten….Seconds later, another finger joined the first and he could not have cared less about when Rude had found lube. Rude's other hand trailed down his torso, over the scars he hated but that Rude didn't seem to notice at all, down to his thigh to gently push it aside so he could press into him in one slow, gentle thrust.

Oh gods, it was good. Slow and maddening, he tried to meet Rude's thrusts and relieve the building tension in his groin but strong warm hands held his hips, made him even hotter. It felt insane. He reached down to his aching arousal, groaning in the relief of his own touch, and looked up to see Rude looking at him in naked, open-mouthed lust.

Rude, watching him touch himself. It was his undoing. Something in both of them broke free and they could only hold onto each other. Vincent's vision went white as his seed spilled over his hand and he felt Rude shudder with completion, felt a pang of disappointment when he pulled away.

Softly, Vincent heard him mumble "Wanted this for so long."

He pulled his soaked hair out of his eyes and turned his head to see Rude, flat on his back, eyes closed and looking obscenely sated. He rolled over a little and leaned his face into his lover's shoulder.

"Be careful what you wish for." He lay there quietly for a bit, then sat up suddenly. "Get up, we need to get dressed and go to the bar."

"Why?" Rude seemed more interested in keeping Vincent in a lazy post coital embrace.

"Because I'm out of all the beer and wine that I've unpacked. And I need to make a booze run, and while we're out, we might as well drink." He cleaned himself up and began the work of dragging Rude's dead weight out of the bed.

"Sound philosophy. You need a wine refrigerator, you know. For whites, and beer."

"I'll pick one up, since you drink them. How long before you think they'll catch on?"

"Oh, a week or two. They'll have to notice things like, we're always showing up and leaving together. Reno is quite observant."

"Cloud can be as well. It's vexing. Let's…well, let's not volunteer any information, but let's not try to hide it either." He pulled on a pair of black jeans and a dark gray shirt, and gave his hair a quick brush.

"Life as normal then?"

"Except we're sleeping with each other." Vincent smiled a little, looking up through veil of his hair at Rude as he pulled on his boots. "Let's go. I'm thirsty."

Rude gave him one more thorough kiss and they walked out the door to meet the world.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Flatware stealing story came from Mako Headrush and actually happened to a friend of hers.

I think Vincent is kind of a horndog after all that time in a coffin. I think Rude will adjust.

Reno and Cloud naturally do NOT figure things out in "a week or two," as we see in later installments, because they are way too busy with their own extracurricular activities and it takes them almost half a year. Ha.


	2. Epilogue: The Vincent

This story was complete, but then I ran across some old notes where Mako Headrush and I were trying to figure out what kind of motorcycle Rude would have, and I had found one in a google search called The Vincent. And figured hell, there has to be a story here somewhere.

And so there was, and it kind of worked its way into an epilogue here, in which Vincent and Rude mark time a little different than normal people.

* * *

><p><em>Well, I don't need a reason that<br>I find your love so pleasin'  
>I know you can carry me back home<br>Been out in the wilderness  
>I could use a little tenderness<br>Baby I know you can carry me back home_

_And I give good as I get_  
><em>This is a night you will never forget<em>  
><em>So I'm not tellin', I'm askin' you<em>  
><em>Abandon all known points of view<em>  
><em>Honey let me carry you back home—John Hiatt, Carry You Back Home<em>

* * *

><p>"So how long you had a bike, partner?" Reno was nothing, if not nosy.<p>

"High school. It was an old piece of shit when I got it, all I could afford, but now it's vintage."

"Yeah, funny how that happens. You gonna sell it?" The pair of Turks crawled over a pile of debris in the old boat house. Rude grinned to himself, thinking of the last time he was here. It hadn't been with Reno, it hadn't been to fetch an old motorcycle, and it sure hadn't been in the clear light of day.

It had been summer, for one, and Vincent's warm naked body under his touch had provided considerable interest. Hell, the memory was doing much the same now, enough to make Rude grateful for the light jacket he was wearing. He belatedly remembered that Reno had asked him a question.

"No, thinking I can rebuild it. Kinda like a hobby. Not doing anything else this winter and I can do it in the maintenance bay. Ma swears it's beyond hope, but I don't know. New tires, who knows what else. Like I said, a hobby. What are you laughing at?"

He looked down at his partner, sitting on the floor of the boathouse with the tarp pulled back and an old, dusty motorcycle in front of him. "Do you happen to remember the kind of bike you owned, by any chance?"

"Not really. It was at least fifteen years ago. Shit, more?."

"'The Vincent,' yo." He brushed dust off a silver trademark. "You're gonna have fun explaining this one when you get home."

Rude groaned. This was going to be one hell of a winter. He and Reno loaded the old bike onto the trailer and prepared to haul it onto the ferry, and back to Edge.

* * *

><p>The next few days were filled with phone calls of predictable Reno content.<p>

"So, you gonna ride The Vincent to work?" Click.

"You taken the Vincent out for a lube job yet?" Click.

"So if Vincent rides the Vincent, is it transportation or masturbation?" Click.

"If it gets a flat tire, do those blue pi—" Click.

The jokes continued throughout their normal weekly double-date steak dinner, and the walk back to their respective homes. Filled with wine and good cheer, they degenerated somewhat.

"So what kind of mileage does the Vincent get, anyway?"

Cloud groaned and looked for some alley to shove Reno into. Rude rubbed his forehead and considered more extreme measures when he heard a barely suppressed snort behind him.

"Thirty years…to the coffin…"

"_Vin."_

"I'm sorry. It just kind of…came to me."

"You're encouraging him." Sure enough, Reno had collapsed on the sidewalk in hysterical laughter and even Cloud was close to giving in. "I should have sold the damn thing."

"Yes, you should have," Vincent agreed. "Oh wait, are we still talking about the motorcycle?" A fresh wave of wails came up from Reno's prone body, joined now by Cloud's laughter in counterpoint.

"Home." Rude attempted to collect what was left of his dignity and walked toward the condo.

* * *

><p>"Don't complain to me, Rude, you really could have sold it, without ever bringing it home." The <em>real<em> Vincent arched his brows over a glass of wine, sitting on the curb and watching him tighten a bolt. With new tires and chrome, it was well on its way back to its former glory.

"No, it's a classic. Vintage. Are you laughing?"

"No." Silence descended into the early winter chill of the garage before Vincent made a very undignified snorking noise into his fist. "I'm sorry. I'll help you with the bike."

"You and Reno are enjoying this coincidence a little too much. At least you aren't littering my day with sexual innuendos about straddling the Vincent."

"I have thought them. It's just that…gods. If I say them out loud, I fear I will die of an aneurism. I suppose it's nice, though that I, er, it…vintage. At least you didn't say antique, I suppose. Straddling an antique. I fear I could not help but take umbrage at that." He poured a refill, a generous one; at least he'd had the foresight to bring the bottle with him. "Do you think your teenage self had a premonition?"

"No, I bought it because it was cheap." Too late, he realized that might not have been the most tactful reply possible.

Vincent ducked his head and laughed between his drawn up knees. "Thank you."

"Never mind. Help, if you insist on being a smart ass." Vincent put down the wine glass and picked up another wrench, tightening the bolts that Rude hadn't reached yet.

"Have you thought about the paint?"

"It was black, before. What do you think? Stick with the original, or get creative?"

"Billowing crimson is a nice touch."

"Vin…"

"I can't help it! The bike is named the Vincent, for Gaia's sake!" He lay back on the cold cement and gave into the laughter that had been tempting him for the last week. Rude walked over and sat next to him, pulling him up, and then against the warmth of his own body. The leather of his jacket creaked; winter was new enough that their cold weather clothes smelled still of the mustiness of storage. The scent mixed with motor oil and whatever essence was Vincent himself. Rude's thoughts drifted.

"Almost the boys' anniversary."

"I know." Vincent smiled, somehow, without really moving his face. Rude always wondered how he did that.

"Can't believe it's been a year."

"You want to do anything?" The subtext hung heavy in the air; they both knew it wasn't Reno and Cloud they were talking about.

A year. A year since they had first made love and never looked back.

Outside it was getting dark; soon, the garage lights alone would be too dim to do any work on the bike and they would have to pack it up and go inside. Inside, to the condo they now shared in a level of normalcy that would have made them both laugh, or weep, one short or long year ago.

"We could paint the bike red." Vincent rested his chin on his knee and Rude wiped a smudge of oil off his cheek. They sat quietly until it became too cool to be comfortable, then packed up the tools and put them in the storage locker.

The rest of it, they'd think about later. They knew all they needed to know for now.


End file.
